


"You're the one thing keeping me sane right now."

by Lavender_and_Vanilla



Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Appreciation of Mycroft's Arse, Christmas Fluff, Don't Post To Another Site, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Family Dynamics, First Christmas, M/M, Mystrade Monday, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28069752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavender_and_Vanilla/pseuds/Lavender_and_Vanilla
Summary: Mycroft has ulterior motives for wanting to spend Christmas with the family.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Series: Mystrade Monday Part 2: Flash Fiction [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862299
Comments: 26
Kudos: 122
Collections: Mystrade Holiday 2020





	"You're the one thing keeping me sane right now."

Greg watched from the bed as Mycroft moved about the room getting ready to sleep. They were both knackered. The drive to Mycroft’s parents country home was pretty, but long. Then there was the hubbub of the arrival, quickly followed by dinner, and the mandatory evening Christmas Eve service. Christmas cookies and tea with the neighbors after the service were obligatory. Greg was never so happy to see Mycroft’s old room, with the creaky, narrow bed.

Mycroft had changed into pajamas and slid into the bed next to Greg. Chilled toes brushed against Greg’s shins. Greg tangled his legs around Mycroft’s as he shifted closer. Lying on their sides facing each other, Greg placed a small kiss on the creases on Mycroft’s forehead.

“How are you holding up?” Greg asked softly.

Mycroft closed his eyes and sighed heavily.

“Your mum is a force to be reckoned with… Mikey.”

Mycroft cracked open his eyes. “Say that name outside of our bedroom and I _will_ have you transferred to Shetland.”

Greg snickered, “Nah, you wouldn’t.”

“True," Mycroft grumbled. "You’re the one thing keeping me sane right now.”

Greg chuckled. “And Sherlock, John, and Rosie haven’t even arrived yet.”

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Mycroft.

“Well, they won’t arrive before noon. We’ll have a quiet morning at least.” Greg’s hand slipped under Mycroft’s pajama shirt and rubbed soothing circles on his lower back. “Maybe I can convince you to take off your pajamas for me.” Greg’s hand wandered below the waist of Mycroft’s pajama bottoms to caress the soft curve of Mycroft’s arse.

With a stern look Mycroft gently relocated Greg’s hand. “Tomorrow morning is the reason, we’re here. We have important work in the kitchen.” Mycroft yawned widely behind his hand. “Pardon me.”

“Have we been conscripted to peel potatoes?”

“I volunteered us.” Mycroft kissed Greg briefly, and settled back down facing away from Greg.

Greg tapped Mycroft’s shoulder. “Excuse me? Volunteered? You know that means even more time with your mother?” Greg was thinking a long walk in the morning, perhaps with Mr. Holmes, was in order.

“Gregory,” Mycroft rolled back over. In the moonlight coming in through the window, Greg could make out Mycroft’s face. He looked very serious. “My mother makes the finest roast turkey you’ll ever eat. Each year I come to glean a little more of her expertise. Until I learn all her secrets I’ll continue to put up with the terrors of socializing with the Forsythes, the tedious sermons of the vicar and, yes, being called Mikey.”

“You sneaky devil, why don’t you just ask her for the recipe?” Greg was terribly amused by the notion of Mycroft spying on his mother as she prepared the Christmas turkey.

“Now, where’s fun in that?”

Greg had to cover his mouth, he was laughing so hard. Mycroft giggled softly with him. As their fit of laughter calmed, Mycroft lay his head on Greg’s chest, and Greg wrapped his arm around his shoulders. The clock down the hall chimed midnight. Mycroft lifted his head and looked at Greg, still smiling. Under the intensity of Mycroft’s gaze Greg could feel the depth of love the man had for him. He pulled Mycroft down for a warm, tender kiss.

“Happy Christmas, Mycroft. I love you.”

“Happy Christmas, Gregory. I love you too.”


End file.
